With her hair blowing in the wind, she went intrepidly
Towards the foaming abyss howling at her bare feet
And the intoxication of the noise in her ingenuous eyes
Masked from her the dangers of the rapid wave
His whole being vibrated to the splendid din
Without concern for the perils at this unknown age
Shivering in the spray of the open sea
With sneaky, implacable and stupid death
Then in a rumbling of the shaken reef
Under her shroud of foam, she had called
With a few faint cries of a wounded dove
With a few faint cries of a wounded dove
The child, who believed not to be heard
Saw God, even leaning on his frozen lip
Respond with a smile to the desperate call
Reply with a smile to the desperate call.

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